


Tap twice for slow, thrice for stop and four times for "please fuck me harder"

by Kiyuomi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Asphyxiation, Blindfolds, Breathplay, Choking, Crossdressing, Edging, Frotting, Good Cop Bad Cop, Handcuffs, Knife Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Overstimulation, PWP, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Safewords, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Threesome - M/M/M, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyuomi/pseuds/Kiyuomi
Summary: JJ is a master phantom thief who’s finally been captured by police duo Mr. Lee and Mr. Chulanont, who are determined to use any means of interrogation to get the truth from Mr. Leroy.-Phichit and Seung Gil play good cop/bad cop to a very willing JJ.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:  
> "JJ/Seung Gil/Phichit + NSFW, good cop/bad cop interrogation  
> JJ is the suspect tied to a chair for questioning, phichit is the good cop sitting in his lap promising him a “reward” if he’s good, and seunggil is the bad cop slicing his clothes open with a knife and threatening JJ’s dick if he doesn’t cooperate. as freaked out as JJ is, he’s super into all of it; consensual plz, whether it’s cop AU or bedroom roleplay between the three"
> 
> Warning for: FILTH, safewords, bondage, implied dub/non-con in the roleplay, rough oral sex, choking

            JJ opens his eyes to darkness.

            The world spins for a delirious moment, his head lolling as he tries to move. His limbs don’t budge; legs and arms tied down to what’s probably a chair. More accurately, he tugs at plush lining of unmistakably handcuffs from a tell-tale jingle of metal. He can roll his head and lift himself upward about an inch or two off the seat before a band of rope restricts his movement right above his navel, and he shudders when he intakes a breath, feeling it constrict. There’s something very familiar sitting inside him, creating an artificial fullness that swells when he shifts, hitting him pleasurably when he sits back down onto the seat. He feels along the floor, some carpet, and realizes with a jolt that his shoes have been removed and whatever he’s wearing wasn’t the jeans and tee he had adorned earlier that day.

            A finger hooks onto the blindfold and he gasps.

            “You there?” A familiar voice speaks into his ear, slow breath tingling and he can’t help but smile. Another voice, equally familiar as the first, laughs and he feels hands tracing a fold of fabric from his knees up.

            “He’s grinning, laughing at us. Probably thinks we’re failure police men,” the second voice says teasingly, squeezing at JJ’s lower thighs. They amble closer, and when the voices continue JJ feels the barest tingle of breath against his cheeks. “But we’ll get the truth out of him, won’t we, phantom thief Leroy?”

            “In your dreams, officer Chulanont,” JJ’s smirk spans from cheek to cheek, his words sticky with false sweetness, “I do hope you have some nice ones. Good ones, bad ones, wet ones.”

            “Don’t be cheeky,” the first voice scolds, and both JJ and Phichit laugh when a right hand lightly pinches at his cheek.

            “Officer Lee, lighten up a little,” Phichit says, stroking under the rumpled skirt that crinkles prettily over JJ’s thighs. The “thief” shivers and he presses down a little firmer, outlining the elastic band of the nylon barely stretched over JJ’s hips. He had known from the moment that he saw the costume online that it would be perfect, but there was no comparing his illusions to the reality sitting bound before him.

            “No,” Seung-Gil retorts, folding his arms over JJ’s chest. His boyfriends rumble with laughter again and he ducks down to hide his fond smile. “Are we doing this or not?”

            “Of course officer,” JJ’s grin is anything but innocent, “but what exactly do you think you can do to me?” He presses his arches into the ground, lifting himself that one or two inches off the chair to jostle the two.

            “We’re going to find the, uh,” Phichit scrambles for a reasonable explanation, “password-code thing to the safe from you. For the diamond you stole. You’re very evil, phantom thief Leroy.” Good enough. Phichit cracks his knuckles teasingly, beginning to pull at the shiny caplet draped over the Canadian skater when Seung-Gil abruptly leans over, cupping JJ’s chin and tilting it upwards.

            “Words?” He commands and Phichit rolls his eyes, dropping his hands. They already went over it three times prior to actually getting JJ tied down, though with some of the tools they’re experimenting with today, he supposes once more to calm Seung-Gil’s nerves wouldn’t hurt.

            “Cherry is the passcode, vanilla is the fake passcode, and maple is emergency stop.” The words roll off JJ’s tongue, practiced from when the idea was first brought up. Seung-Gil nods but he doesn’t release JJ until he continues, wiggling his hands. “Two taps for break, three for stop, four for more.”

            “Good boy,” Seung-Gil praises, letting go as Phichit sighs in relief, hands itching to start. He waits until the Korean skater nods and finally, finally he can pull at the shiny caplet covering JJ’s neck and shoulders, sliding it off and letting it slip to the floor.

            “Nice,” he whispers, licking his lips. Without the satin cover up, the phantom thief costume in full is sexy. There’s a detached collar gently framing collarbones, a loosely laced up vest with a fake blouse panel that hits just high enough to cover JJ’s nipples but straps too thin to be anything but decoration, and the fluttery pleated skirt with a line of lace hemmed underneath. Along with the frilly armbands, shiny nylon and the single lace anklet that had arrived in the costume package, Phichit wants to taste everything. That is, if Seung-Gil doesn’t get to it first.

            “Hnn,” JJ murmurs, body buzzing in wait. His shoulders feel cold, exposed, without whatever garment was hung over him earlier. Seung-Gil’s hands have slid down to cup his waist, his lips innocently pecking along the rim of his ear. There’s a tiny slip of his tongue and JJ shivers.

            “Don’t start without me!” Phichit chastens his partner, dropping to his knees to mouth along the exposed skin above JJ’s skirt and below the band of rope. JJ feels a kiss along the flat of his stomach and squirms; unsure if the feeling is ticklish or sexy. Phichit nips along his happy trail and oh, it’s definitely sexy.

            Seung-Gil is moving, blowing little wisps along the back of his neck and JJ leans forward just a bit, letting the feeling ghost along his skin. Phichit starts moving upward, hand lifting the vest and nibbling at the exposed skin. It’s soft, teasing movements, but every shift reminds JJ that there’s something currently sitting in him that rattles and causes a familiar burn to start in his lower body.

            “Ah,” he hisses when Seung-Gil’s teeth graze along his neck, sliding a straight line down to his collarbones where he sucks, taking in the other’s tightening breathing. Phichit’s hands are slow, careful, where they pull at the shirt and JJ wants more. “What,” he taunts; straightening and knocking Seung-Gil’s head away, “is this the best you officers have to offer?”

            Seung-Gil pinches the space between his collar bones and shoulder for that, harsh enough to leave the skin red when his fingers release. Phichit chuckles, low and heavy, and finally places the palm of his hands over JJ’s chest, squeezing.

            “I don’t think you understand, phantom thief,” Phichit says, toying with the useless straps that hold up the vest. He wants to get rid of them, but that’s not his role. “I’m just trying to be nice with you. Unlike my partner here, I’m just here to make us both happy.” He nods to Seung-Gil and the other returns the gesture, slow, heavy hands lifting up a familiar item.

            JJ jolts at the sudden feeling of cold against his cheek and time slows, Phichit and Seung-Gil staring at the blindfolded man in the middle. They wait until JJ stills, slumping back into his chair, to glide the item downward, cold metal skirting along his skin. It’s dangerous, so much so, but Seung-Gil has the thick edge set to JJ and Phichit knows the other well enough that he would never take a riskier action.

            “Phantom thief,” Seung-Gil’s voice is low, dropped down from arousal and nerves as he moves, “if you value your life, I would not move. In fact,” he slides the sharp edge under the thin strap of the vest and slowly, so slowly, nicks upward. The useless band of fabric falls. “If your value your sanity, you should give in now. We do not hesitate to torture.”

             “Eh, really?” JJ means the words to come out sarcastically but his voice is tight, just high and barely squeaky when the cold metal moves along his upper back to the other side. They had practiced this, ensured that no accident would happen before today and made certain that above all, Seung-Gil would be okay playing his role. “And what exactly is that you’re holding in your hands, officer?”

            “A knife.” The other strap snaps off, and the vest tops comes undone, flopping forward uselessly and exposing half of JJ’s upper body to the cold. JJ gasps from something entirely related to the temperature change and Phichit purrs, hands sliding up to map the muscles.

            There’s a mix of adrenaline and arousal pumping in JJ’s blood, and even though he realistically knows that Seung-Gil wouldn’t choose now to slit his head he can’t help but breathe a little harder, noting that the knife hasn’t moved from his skin. The thought should be terrifying, especially when he still can’t see exactly where the tool is going to move next, but every dizzying breath he inhales comes with the push of blood flowing downward.

            “What’s wrong, Jean?” Phichit is too close, every syllable a vibration of his lips against his skin. The knife doesn’t move, still there sitting, hovering and JJ isn’t sure what’s more distracting—its presence or Phichit mouthing at the edge of his skin and the remains of the vest. “It’s scary, isn’t it?” JJ feels Phichit’s knee move upwards, settling between his thighs and so, so close to his growing erection between the folds of the skirt and god, god, “Do you want it to stop?”

            Seung-Gil taps his shoulder, one, two, three.

            “No,” JJ replies. His head spins for just a moment, but he has a role to play. “As if this is enough to get you the code,” his voice is higher, breathing frequent and it’s the right answer because the knife finally moves, roaming from his shoulder down.

            “Is that a challenge?” Seung-Gil’s voice is a rumble. He’s close, one hand firmly on JJ’s shoulder and the other holding the knife tight, hooking it underneath the fake white flap imitating a blouse and pulls, snapping a seam. “This isn’t enough?”

            Phichit kisses his nipple, wet and messy and trails a line of them downward. There’s a definition between JJ’s pectoral muscles and the little bit of fat underneath and he mouths at it ruthlessly, taking in the little moans that slip through tight lips.

            “More,” JJ says because there are no hands to tap with his own chained behind him, “more. It’ll take more than that to break me.”

            “Really?”

            They both say it, something dark and dangerous at the edge of their words and JJ isn’t sure why they didn’t tackle this scene earlier. They’ve barely starting, just dancing at the idea, but he’s turned on.

            He’s _so_ turned on.

            Seung-Gil’s knife hand rises upward again, cutting at the panel and Phichit pulls at it, dragging it down until the vest is lying uselessly over the band of ropes that keep JJ secured to the chair. JJ is tight, tense, and erect and it’s showing when his stomach is clenched in and his muscles proudly displayed as Phichit trails down. It’s the movement of sharp metal downward that’s getting him to shake though, and there’s this tiny twinge of annoyance from Phichit that his work isn’t being acknowledged.

            He grinds his knee against JJ’s groin and the other chokes.

            “P-Phich-hnnn,” The moan slips out and he can’t help using the other’s name. The pressure against his erection is electrifying when every other touch has simply been that, a light tease against his skin. Phichit’s knee is solid and heavy, grinding down and he can’t help but thrust against it.

            The toy in him rattles at the movement and JJ startles, thigh muscles clenching down and he hisses, low and long.

            “Good?” Seung-Gil questions, as if he needs to. The knife continues its trek downwards, slitting a single line down the white blouse panel of the vest until it comes apart, splitting and lying uselessly over the rumpled skirt. Without it Seung-Gil can see the elastic band of pantyhose up maybe an inch higher than the skirt, and he motions to it.

            Phichit nods, and slides his knee away.

            “Hey,” JJ whines, needy. He feels exposed, he is exposed, and he wants more. “What’s happening?”

            “Phantom thief,” Seung-Gil’s voice is hush, his hands gone and only JJ’s instincts tell him that he’s hovering nearby, “what do you value more—the passcode, or your safety?”

            “What he means,” Phichit sounds like he could laugh, which is both alarming and arousing in this case, “is whether or not you want to keep your dick.”

            “What?”

            It’s only the sudden grip of Phichit’s hands over his thighs that keep him in place when the knife slides down the curve between his upper thigh and his ass. JJ shakes for a moment, suddenly all too aware that Seung-Gil is armed and right next to his penis. If he moves, this scene is going to end up a bloody horrifying mess.

            Why is he so hard?

            “I think,” JJ licks his lips, slow and questioning, “that the answer is obvious.” Phichit’s hands rub circles into his thighs and he clenches down to prevent shivering, but that just makes the pressure inside him more obvious and he honestly isn’t sure what to do. There’s a single finger suddenly pulling at tight fabric around his thigh and then a tense, silent moment.

            The tension loosens.

            “Fuck yes,” Phichit moans, eying as Seung-Gil moves the knife to the other side of the nylons. There’s something deliciously dirty about a rumpled skirt around pantyhose being cut open right where JJ’s dick is straining in his briefs, a small wet patch appearing. It’s cruel, maybe, but for a very slow moment, Seung-Gil slides the dull end of the knife over it.

            JJ hisses, and it’s only Phichit’s weight that stops him from thrusting upward.

            “Thief Leroy,” Phichit drawls, climbing onto JJ, pressing his own hard on against the Canadian’s chest, “I’m beginning to think you like playing with knives.” He grinds down hard, JJ jerks, and he laughs. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

            “Then do it.” Seung-Gil steps away, admiring his work. He’s cleanly cut a window through the hosiery and JJ’s underwear, a throwaway pair for this occasion, revealing his hard, leaking dick poking through. JJ trembles, feeling weirdly exposed despite the remaining tight pressure of the skirt against his waist.

            “Oh my!” Phichit fakes a gasp, sliding back down to anchor himself on JJ’s lap. He grins, slotting the curve of his ass against JJ’s erection just to feel the other shake, still unsure if he can move. Seung-Gil drops the knife to the side table, relief that he’s done his role, and kisses Phichit.

             JJ hears the clatter of metal against wood and relaxes for just a fraction of a second before Phichit ruts against his stomach and the sound of lips meeting is heavy in the air. Against the band of the skirt he can feel how hard Phichit is, feel the material of his pants rubbing and when the slick sound of wet lips moving echoes, he groans. Knowing Seung-Gil, he’s probably exploring Phichit’s mouth with his tongue, insistently feeling along the roof of the mouth to tickling at the gums. It’s weirdly invasive and sexy, and JJ thinks for just a second that he wishes those movements were on him.

            The sound of the two breaking apart is clear and JJ tenses, unsure. Then another sound; JJ can almost relax and enjoy the show.

            The waistband of the skirt snaps against him and he startles, jumping as much as he can in the confines of the seat and bumping against Phichit. The Thai skater gasps at the sudden friction, breaking the kiss to look down accusatorily when he spies Seung-Gil’s fingers trailing upward.

            Higher.

            Higher.

            And landing just in front of JJ’s adam apple.

            “O-oh my,” Phichit stutters, and JJ just knows that there’s something else. Phichit’s hips pick up again, bouncing over his dick and that feels good, something warm and firm and friction, wonderful friction, building. His throat tightens and his breathing gets faster, harsher, because it feels so good.

            Seung-Gil’s fingers tighten.

            JJ gasps.

            “S-Seung?” He whispers, uncertain. Phichit isn’t stopping, if anything, he’s getting faster. Messier, louder. His precum wets his lower stomach and the skirt, and Phichit’s hand hits the wooden table in search of something, but JJ’s ears are only trained on one person’s actions right now. “Seung?”

            “What,” his voice is thick is arousal and JJ trembles, all want and need when the fingers move to encase his throat, “does a phantom thief want?” His digits tighten, just enough to make breathing that much harder and JJ’s head swims. “What does a phantom thief need?”

            “More.” He demands. The fingers pinch. “More.”

            There’s a click. And the toy in him comes _alive._

            “Fuck!” JJ hisses, bobbing his hips up at the sudden sensation. Phichit laughs, playful but needy, and his hands are back on JJ, stretching out to pinch and snap at every exposed inch of skin. Seung-Gil’s fingers don’t move; steady pressure against him and every breath he takes is intense.

            “What’s wrong?” Phichit asks as if he’s not aware, as if he’s not at fault for the sudden vibrations that shake JJ, sending dizzying pulses through his body that only gets stronger when he can’t quite get in all the air he needs in every pant. “Why Mister Leroy, you seem excited all of a sudden. I assure you,” his hands dip down, smudging pre-cum over the skirt and cupping JJ’s balls, rolling his knuckles over them, “if you give us the code, you will be much more excited.”

            JJ shakes his head, unable to get out a clear “no” between gasps and moans, little grunts when Phichit pinches at the skin of his balls and he’s so, so aroused. Phichit’s sliding their dicks together, hand cupping them between and pinching at the sensitive heads. Seung-Gil shifts around, a rustling of his clothes, and the fingers against his throat are suddenly gone. JJ feels himself float for just a moment, taking in deep heaving thankful breaths, when he suddenly feels Seung-Gil’s dick against his cheek.

            “Make that mouth of yours useful, thief.” Before the sentence is even over, JJ opens his mouth obediently. He doesn’t quite get the direction right, twisting his head uselessly to try to get Seung-Gil between his lips. Phichit suddenly thrusts down furiously on JJ, rocking their cocks together between unsteady hands, loud moaning that borders on screaming and JJ just knows that he’s cumming when Seung-Gil’s dick slips into his mouth.

            It is laughable how needy JJ is, thrusting to meet Phichit every fall and straining against the binds to take in more of Seung-Gil. He’s barely in, just the tip of his head touching the roof of JJ’s mouth, and he needs desperately needs more. The Thai skater’s voice dips off, hoarse as he’s coming down from his high, but he doesn’t stop rutting against JJ, and his fingers pick up movement again. They’re sliding down further than his balls this time, struggling to poke at his ass but it is impossible when he’s tied down, firmly in the chair. That doesn’t change his desperate squirming to get those fingers in, because he’s so, so close and the world around him is swimming, but it’s not enough. His feet scrape against the carpeted floor, trying to get him higher but he can’t, bound and the thought sends his head spinning.

            “What are you waiting for?” Phichit chuckles and JJ already knows that he’s going to love whatever he says next. “Hurry up and fuck his mouth.”

            “Isn’t that a reward,” Seung-Gil responds and he’s cruel, so cruel, enough to twist his hips just enough that his dick slides in an inch deeper but nowhere need what JJ needs. He’s mouthing uselessly at the erection, drool and precum mixing and spilling from his open lips, and he needs more. He can feel tears prickling at his eyes, desperate insatiable demands for the little somethings that he needs to cum, and Seung-Gil simply hooks a finger on the edge of his mouth, pulling.

            “If you want this, phantom thief,” god, please, please, “I want to hear the passcode.” As if he could even respond with Seung-Gil’s dick in his mouth. Phichit’s fingers move back upward, teasingly cupping his balls and hot breath blowing on his erection, and he strains with need to cum. He’s needs to cum, he _needs_ to; mouthing useless words at Seung-Gil hoping that he would take pity and hurry up and fuck his mouth.

            “See?” Phichit hums, kissing at the head of JJ’s dick and he’s so close, “Should have told us when I was still in charge. Now you’ve got Seung-er, officer all riled up.” His hair tickles against JJ’s thighs and it’s just another sensation that sways his dizzy mind, drowning him in electrifying touches that burn with the need of release.

            Seung-Gil must take pity on him, because the next moment suddenly hands are digging into his scalp, nails scratching on oversensitive skin and he thrusts, hard and sudden, into JJ’s mouth. He coughs, surprised and so turned on, but Seung-Gil doesn’t stop, forcing his head back in place to thrust again. He’s openly fucking his mouth, not caring whether his dick hits the back of JJ’s throat or further in, and JJ’s letting him. He’s choking and the tears finally overflow, hot and heavy, soaked into the cloth tied firmly over his eyes. He can’t breathe properly like this, not with his head back and Seung-Gil’s dick constantly fucking his throat, not with vibrations rocking his body or with the feeling of Phichit’s hands all over his dick, not with the feeling of overexposure and he can’t even do anything, tied back to the chair and blindfolded, and fuck, fuck, fuck he’s cumming.

            Seung-Gil doesn’t slow when JJ’s head lulls back in pleasure; mouth wide and hips bouncing in the inch give bounded by the chair, cum splattering over the skirt and on Phichit’s greedy hands. He drinks in the other’s arousal, the sudden tightening against his cock and Seung-Gil jerks at the base of his dick where JJ’s mouth can’t quite reach. He’s thrusting hard, choking the other, rattling the chair with every thrust. Phichit moves upward, suddenly there in front of him, and grabs him in for a kiss. His body is burning, arousal and satisfaction mixing and finally he’s cumming, slipping out so that his cum paints JJ’s face.

            “Ha-hah,” JJ pants. Slowly, the world is realigning and he feels and smells drying cum on his face. It’s still thick, viscous, and he licks at whatever droplets slip onto his lips. He’s still shaking, mind dizzy and limbs suddenly heavy, but there’s a certain lightness there.

            “JJ.” Phichit swoops down and JJ opens his mouth obediently, taking in the Thai skater’s tongue. The taste of Seung-Gil remains heavy in his mouth, and Phichit licks it up, moaning into him and lighting sensations that continue to wrack his body. JJ whines and Phichit chuckles, mouthing at his lips before moving away.

            “You look good like that,” Phichit compliments, and JJ isn’t sure whether to frown or smile considering “like that” includes cum still dripping down his face. Speaking of, Seung-Gil’s hands work at the blindfold and finally, the cloth slips down, and is used as a rag to wipe up cum.

            “Sorry,” Seung-Gil says. His hands are soft and gentle in contrast to choking JJ just earlier and if his throat wasn’t hoarse and totally busted from that, JJ would probably chuckle. To make up for it, Phichit laughs, slapping Seung-Gil’s ass playfully.

            “’Sorry’, he says, after almost refusing to fuck our poor JJ’s mouth,” Phichit mocks, leaning over JJ’s lap while Seung-Gil glares down at him. “I’m just saying! Besides,” Phichit winks at JJ and the younger skater flushes, “I’m really certain he didn’t mind.”

            “That’s true,” Seung-Gil smiles and JJ pouts at the betrayal, squirming under the continuous wiping of the rag. His actions betray his meaning and Seung-Gil’s face pinches with sudden worry, hands dropping the cloth to grip at JJ’s face. “Did we go too far?” Phichit straightens at the question, suddenly alert and eyes on JJ.

            “No,” JJ rolls his eyes. Of course they’d suddenly go on alert after all was said and done. Well, he rustled his arms and legs uselessly, cuff chains jingling from where they were attached to the chair posts, almost done. “I’m fine. That was good.” His face softened and he grinned, almost bashful at how powerful his orgasm had been, “That was really good.”

            “Really, really good?” Phichit milks, laughing when Seung-Gil shoots him a look. JJ nods, sighing as if in resignation. Phichit’s hands work on the rope around his waist while Seung-Gil searches the supplies on the table, the keychain rattling when he finds it.

            “What did you guys bring anyway?” JJ asks, curious. Seung-Gil moves to unlock the cuffs at JJ’s back and his eyes roam the table, widening in surprise when he takes in the sight. The controller for the vibrator, an extra set of keys, scissors, maple syrup, a feather duster and of course, the knife. He doesn’t quite manage to suppress the shiver the last item gives him, but curiosity of the two items before overtakes arousal. “What’s with the maple syrup and feather duster?”

            “Oh,” Phichit answers, grabbing the scissors from the table when he can’t quite undo the knot, “I wanted to try rimming you with the maple syrup. I thought it would be funny as a parody Canadian dish.” JJ isn’t sure whether to laugh or scoff at the sentiment, but Seung-Gil does him the favor of both by giving a resigned chuckle. “And the feather duster was because I wanted to try edging you with it. Apparently tickling while on the edge of climax really gets people going. Of course,” Phichit’s grin turned sharp and he snapped the waistband of the skirt still tight on JJ, “it wasn’t even needed with how much you wanted Seung-Gil in your mouth huh?”

            “Shut it,” Seung-Gil answers for JJ, and the sets of cuffs around his wrists clatter as they hit the floor. “Be grateful that he agreed on this, I almost stopped you when you brought up the knife.” Speaking of, his eyes flicker to JJ’s apologetically. “That and the, uh, breathplay, are you feeling okay? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

            “I’m fine,” JJ reassures, moving his arms to the front and rubbing at his wrists. The padding of the cuffs had saved him any pain beyond stiffness, and when Phichit snipped through the last rope bound across his stomach, he rubbed at the reddened area, a bit worse off. “I’m totally good. Just tired and,” he shifted, flinching at the oversensitive fullness, “I’m taking that out as soon as we hit the shower. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure I was only told that I was getting a toy, not a vibrator.”

            “Oh, haha.” Phichit chuckled sheepishly, undoing the buckle of the skirt and sliding it down. “I thought it would be a good surprise? I was planning on riding you with it but, uh, that didn’t happen.” His hands rubbed at the red marks along JJ’s stomach and his wrists, gently smoothing over the skin.

            “Phichit.” Both Phichit and JJ flinched at the voice. Seung-Gil glared at the Thai skater, cuffs deposited by his side and rubbing at JJ’s ankles with both hands. “I believed that we were to be explicit about experimenting in scenes.” His hands tightened, clenching JJ’s foot with a precise grip. “You know the rules.”

            “Yes sir!” Phichit saluted Seung-Gil, only half joking. The other continued staring, though his gaze lightened when Phichit returned to massaging at JJ’s wrists. Both skaters sighed in relief as Seung-Gil got up to place the cuff and keys back on the table; when something potentially harmful happened to his boyfriends, particularly the youngest of the trio, Seung-Gil had a penchant for being quiet but deadly.

            “It’s fine, Seung.” Seung-Gil turned around to JJ’s fingers closing on his own, gently holding his hand. His other hand was loosely gripping Phichit’s. Glancing at both of them, JJ smiled. “That was good. I liked it, a lot. Thanks,” his voice quieted, as if his lines were a secret. Phichit and Seung-Gil stilled, taking in the other’s words for a moment, before JJ suddenly rose, skirt slipping off. “Well, I’m off to shower and get this,” he pointed to the torn nylon and underwear, “off. Want to join me?”

            “Absolutely!” Phichit grinned, waving his untaken hand as though volunteering. He turned to Seung-Gil, mischievous. “Shower sex?”

            “No,” Seung-Gil deadpanned, but he trudged along after JJ. “No to the shower sex, yes to the shower. And JJ,” the younger skater turned back, startling when Seung-Gil suddenly embraced him, voice dark. “You make a wonderful phantom thief. We didn’t even get the passcode out of you.”

            “Ooh,” Phichit’s eyes gleamed, clapping his hands together. “Is that a continuation? Are we continuing this?”

            “Maybe,” JJ replied, which clearly meant yes. He smiled at his boyfriends, extending his hands outward again. Immediately, their hands closed over his own, fingers interlocking. He squeezed their hands. “Now, are we going to shower or not?”

            They squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahaha.... I can't believe I wrote this. Reading it makes me flustered... My other fics are pure fluff (kittens! movie and cuddling! flower crowns!) and then there's this. Well, at least the aftercare is more fluffy.  
> Don't know if I'll do another NSFW fic for this fandom. Next on my list is either extreme angst or back to fluff.
> 
> (Edited) Also my tumblr is yuri-yaoi.tumblr.com ! Send in prompts there so that the kink meme doesn't overflood with this ship :D


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